IN YOUR OWN WORDS OUR BACK ON THE STREETS COLUMN was the brainchild of longtime Denver VOICE vendor Brian Augustine, who passed away on January 5, 2023. When he died, Brian was writing a monthly column about what it was like to return to living on the streets, after realizing he could no longer afford his rent. In honor of Brian’s legacy, various vendors decided that through the remainder of 2023, they would continue sharing stories of life on the streets that they either experienced or observed. Rea Brown wrote this final installment of Back on the Streets to commemorate the one-year anniversary of Brian’s passing. Additionally, Denver VOICE vendor Steve Anson wrote about the influence Brian’s life and death have had on him. BACK ON THE STREETS The final column BY REA BROWN, VOICE VENDOR INFLUENCE A tribute to Brian, one year after his passing BY STEVE ANSON, VOICE VENDOR REA BROWN. CREDIT: GILES CLASEN IF THERE IS ONE THING some people haven’t noticed – primarily because of the nightlife on the 16th Street Mall has been greatly aborted due to construction – is the number of homeless sleepers that used to mark the entrance of many of the closed stores with partially sheltered doors. Of such was Denver VOICE vendor Brian Augustine, when he had to choose a safe place to rest for the night. With the Mall having security 24 hours, seven days a week, it’s no wonder some of the peaceful homeless population gravitated to it. Of all the years I’ve worked vending the VOICE on the Mall, I can’t remember a time, when a regular Mall sleeper trashed a storefront. However, I do remember a situation with my buddy Bob*, who slept in the same spot, on the same street, at the same time for years. One night, as I sat about half a block away from the spot, where Bob rested, I watched intently as a group of young men (who were clearly not homeless) approached Bob. Looking around as if they didn’t want to be noticed – apparently, in their mischievous desire to harass an old Native, whom they possibly deemed as a freeloader of society – the young men seemed to consider whether they should actually approach Bob as he slept. Then, as they stepped closer and closer, it was clear that something bad might be about to happen. 10 DENVER VOICE January 2024 Of course, you may be wondering why I just didn’t run over and do/say something, and the truth is that this was not a movie, this was happening in real-time, which means a matter of seconds. They got as close to Bob as they could get before they had to make their final decision. And, by the grace of God, they looked at each other, and if I remember correctly, they laughed and then kept walking. That was a close call, but every story doesn’t have a happy ending, just like every story is not always the contributors vs. the freeloaders. I recall a story I heard from a woman, where two homeless guys thought a poor guy got a lot of money from somewhere, so they tried to rob him and accidentally killed him. Or another time, was when one of my Chess-playing friends got housing, but he had to live by a certain set of rules which included no drinking. It is believed that this friend died from drinking Listerine. I guess the lesson of this final Back on the Streets segment is that every year, almost 200 people die from homelessness. So, most of the homeless people have to come to accept there are at least two things that are certain “Death and Change.” R.I.P Brian Augustine. ■ *JSUK: A few months later Bob got his housing and has been off the streets for years. Even at that early hour, Brian would smile, never forcing his face; whereas my case manager was at best, glib, with a smile that I can only describe as “a gymnast who just failed her routine.” (In college, she was a gymnast, so she was wellpracticed at that forced grin.) We all influence each other. Indeed, we directly and indirectly affect how our society acts and is perceived by the world at large. For example, the media is sometimes referred to as “the fourth estate in American Democracy,” because of how it informs and educates the public. It is a part of the system of checks and balances, a delicate, fragile system essential to keeping our leaders from attempting to plunge us into authoritarianism. I am but a tiny part of this beautiful experiment in governance. As a contributor to the VOICE, Brian was part of that media, too. This morning as I was vending the VOICE, I allowed my memory to drift back to December 1979, when I was fortunate enough to attend a Bob Marley and the Wailers concert at the University of Denver. That memory came back to me as lyrics from Marley’s song, “Slave Driver,” played in my head. “Today, they say that we are free / only to be chained in poverty…” And suddenly, I was here. Now. A generous passer-by let me know she did not want a paper, but she handed me two dollars and said, “This is for you. Your great attitude every morning really helps me.” I breathed a sigh of relief, for that two dollars was enough to cover the monthly payment to maintain my website. I was in quite the financial pinch when I chose to begin vending again. In November 2022, I became very familiar with the consequences of a bleeding ulcer. At first, I mistook the blood I vomited for coffee. (I love a good cuppa, especially the Sumatra blend I now drink.) I finished vomiting and hobbled back to bed. Early the following morning, I had to vomit again. This time, I grabbed my phone before not quite making it to the toilet. When paramedics showed up at my door, I was disconnected from reality, and when I returned, I was in a bed in Denver Health’s ICU. When I returned to the here and now, I was informed that I had lost seven liters of blood and had nearly died. During the next five days, I had ample opportunity to meditate, which is something that is not easy to do in a hospital bed. The form of meditation I practice approximates REM sleep, so one gets a chance to dream while fully conscious. As I meditated, one of my dominant thoughts was of my STEVE ANSON. CREDIT: JAMES KAY ABOUT 10 DAYS AGO, I got tossed about in time. Perhaps this event is a consequence of aging. A generous donor had just handed me a five-dollar bill, told me he was a former Denver VOICE vendor, got his paper, then . . . gone. Fast forward to this morning, when I got a friendly shove back into “the ever-present now.” A man jogged past me at my usual post. He greeted me with, “Good morning, Steve Anson,” and from that greeting, I knew he was a careful reader of the VOICE. Nine or so years ago, I was on my way to an appointment with my neurologist. Though it was close to the end of the month, I had an extra five bucks. At the same corner where I now vend, I approached Brian Augustine who, until he passed away a year ago, occupied that spot. I handed Brian the five dollars, and he handed me a copy of the VOICE. I explained I was in a rush. He said, “Thank you,” and I hobbled onward with my walker. On my bus ride to the doc, I puzzled over Brian and his style of vending. I kept thinking – because of my dealing with my then case manager where I live – of Brian’s sincerity when greeting folks at 7 a.m. apartment and my expectation that my rent would probably be increased when I got back to it. No such notification ever reached me (though the rent had been increased); nor was I made aware of this increase for several months afterward. By the time all this was resolved, I was $160 in arrears to an organization that has consistently treated me with so much disrespect that when I would approach the front door of the building, I would say to myself, sometimes aloud, “Welcome back to Hell.” A couple of months after my release from the hospital, I saw in my Google Chrome feed on my phone, that Brian Augustine had died. Around that same time, Christine McVie died, as well. (She was, in my snobbish view, far too overlooked in Fleetwood Mac.) After that discovery, I was saddened every time I passed the corner, where Brian had vended, and McVie’s “Songbird” would occasionally play in my mind. So, Brian, these may be McVie’s words, but as I think of them, they are for you. “And I love you, I love you, I love you / Like never before, like never before / Like never before. ■ Slave Driver lyrics © Fifty Six Hope Road Music Ltd., Blackwell Fuller Music Publishing LLC. Songbird lyrics © Universal Music - Careers, Kuzu Music.
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